Dangerous Kiss: A Novel

By Jackie Collins

The seductively beautiful, street-smart, and powerful Lucky Santangelo, star of four of Jackie Collins's previous international bestsellers—Chances, Lucky, Lady Boss, and Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge—returns in Dangerous Kiss.

In Chances, Lucky grew up in a top crime family; in Lucky, she was married three times; in Lady Boss, she took on Hollywood and bought Panther Studios; and in Vendetta, she fought off a lifelong enemy to keep the studio, and her husband.

Now, in Dangerous Kiss, when a member of her family is brutally gunned down in a random holdup, her fury knows no bounds. While she is tracking the killer, her relationship with her husband, charismatic writer and director Lennie Golden, is put to the test. Then, suddenly, into her life comes a man from her past—a man with a dangerous kiss.

Dangerous Kiss is a story of raw anger, love, lust, murder, and revenge, and at its white-hot center is Lucky Santangelo, a strong, exciting woman who dares to take chances—and always wins.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gallery Books
• Release date: Sep 17, 1999
• ISBN: 9780684873718

Jackie Collins

Jackie Collins has been called a “raunchy moralist” by the director Louis Malle and “Hollywood’s own Marcel Proust” by Vanity Fair. With over 500 million copies of her books sold in more than forty countries, and with thirty-two New York Times bestsellers to her credit, she is one of the world’s top-selling novelists. Six of her novels have been adapted for film or TV. Collins was awarded an OBE (Order of the British Empire) by the Queen of England in 2013 for her services to literature and charity. When accepting the honor she said to the Queen, “Not bad for a school drop-out”—a revelation capturing her belief that both passion and determination can lead to big dreams coming true. She lived in Beverly Hills where she had a front-row seat to the lives she so accurately captured in her compulsive plotlines. She was a creative force, a trailblazer for women in fiction, and in her own words “a kick-ass writer!” Her fascinating life as a writer and icon is explored in the CNN Films and Netflix documentary Lady Boss: The Jackie Collins Story. Discover more at JackieCollins.com.

Book preview

BOOK ONE

Los Angeles

Chapter One

"Take it!" the young white girl urged, thrusting the gun at the sixteen-year-old black youth, who immediately backed away.

"No! he said fervently. My old man would bust my ass."

The girl, clad in a miniskirt and tight tank top, had long legs, a big bosom, a pointed face, hazel eyes heavily outlined in black, and unevenly cropped dark hair. She stared at the boy scornfully. Chicken! she jeered in a scathing voice. Daddy’s little baby chickee boy.

"No way!" he grumbled, pissed that she would talk to him that way. He was tall and gangly, with large ears that stuck out and big brown eyes.

"Oh yes, she taunted. Way!"

On impulse he snatched the gun out of her hands, sticking it down the front of his pants with a macho grunt. Satisfied?

The girl nodded, hazel eyes gleaming. She was eighteen, but looked older. Let’s go, she said authoritatively. It was obvious who was in charge.

"Go like where?" he asked, wishing she could be a bit nicer. She was always so short with him.

"To have a blast, she answered airily. Y’know, cruise around, get shit faced. We’ll take your car."

His father had recently bought him a black Jeep for his sixteenth birthday. It was also a present to celebrate their return to L.A. after a year and a half of living in New York.

"I dunno . . . he said hesitantly, remembering that tonight he was supposed to have an early dinner with his dad, but thinking that the idea of getting shit faced with her seemed much more appealing. An’ why we need a gun?" he added.

The girl didn’t answer, she simply made chicken noises as she sauntered toward the door.

The boy followed, his eyes glued to her legs. He had a hard-on, and he knew that if he played it right, tonight might be the night he scored.

Chapter Two

LUCKY SANTANGELO GOLDEN stood up behind her enormous Art Deco desk in her office at Panther Studios. Then she stretched and yawned. It had been a long, hard day, and she was beyond tired. However, the day was not over yet, because tonight she was being honored at the Beverly Hilton Hotel for her work toward raising money for AIDS research.

As owner and head of Panther Studios, Lucky was in an extremely high-profile position, so she had no choice but to accept the limelight gracefully.

The problem was that she was not looking forward to being the center of attention. It wasn’t as if she’d asked to be honored—the evening had been thrust upon her, making it impossible to refuse.

She reached for a candy bar, hungrily nibbling on the sweet chocolate. Nothing like a sugar rush to get me through the next few hours, she thought ruefully. Michael Caine’s famous Hollywood quote kept running through her head: In a town with no honor, how come everyone’s always being honored? Yeah, right on, Michael! she thought with a wry grin. But how does one avoid it?

Lucky was a slender, long-limbed woman with an abundance of shoulder-length jet curls; dangerous black opal eyes; full, sensual lips; and a deep olive skin. Hers was an exotic beauty mixed with a fierce intelligence. A brilliant businesswoman, she’d been running Panther Studios for eight years, making it one of the most respected and successful studios in Hollywood. Lucky had a knack for green-lighting all the right movies and picking up others for distribution that always did well. You’re Lucky in more ways than one, Lennie was forever telling her. You can do anything.

Lennie Golden, her husband. Whenever she thought about him her face brightened. Lennie was the love of her life. Tall, sexy, funny—yet, most of all, he was her soul mate, and she planned on staying with him forever, because they were truly destined to be together, and after two previous marriages she was finally totally happy. Lennie and their children—seven-year-old Gino, named after her father, and adorable eight-year-old Maria—satisfied her completely.

And then there was her fifteen-year-old son, Bobby, from her marriage to the late shipping magnate Dimitri Stanislopoulos. Bobby was so handsome and adult looking—over six feet tall and extremely athletic. And there was Bobby’s niece, Brigette, whom Lucky considered her godchild. Brigette lived in New York, where she was a top supermodel. Not that she needed the money, because Brigette was one of the richest young women in the world, having inherited a Greek shipping fortune from her grandfather Dimitri and her mother, Olympia, who’d died tragically of a drug overdose.

Tonight, Steven Berkeley, Lucky’s half brother, was picking her up, because Lennie was on location downtown, directing Steven’s wife, Mary Lou, in a romantic comedy. Lennie had once been an extremely successful comedian and movie star, but since his kidnapping ordeal several years ago he’d given up performing in front of the camera. Now he concentrated solely on writing and directing.

The movie he was shooting with Mary Lou, a talented and successful actress, was not for Panther. Both he and Lucky had decided not to provide any opportunity for snide rumors of nepotism. If I’m doing this, I’ll do it on my own, he’d said. And of course he’d succeeded, just as she’d known he would.

Tonight she was going to make an announcement at the end of her speech—an announcement that would blow everyone away. She hadn’t even told Lennie about it. He would be as surprised as everyone else, and she hoped pleased. Only her father, Gino, knew what she was planning to say. Feisty old Gino, eighty-seven now, but still a man to be looked up to and admired.

Lucky adored Gino with a fierce passion; they’d been through so much together, including many years when they hadn’t spoken at all. Now their closeness was legendary, and Lucky always went to him first when it came to making decisions. Gino was the smartest man she knew, although she hadn’t always felt that way about him.

Oh God! What a checkered past they shared—from the time he’d married her off to a senator’s son when she was barely sixteen, to the years they hadn’t spoken while he was out of America as a tax exile, and she’d taken over his Las Vegas hotel empire.

Gino Santangelo was a self-made man who had power, charisma, and quite a way with women. Women adored Gino; they always had. Even now he still knew how to charm and flatter. Lucky remembered her adopted uncle, Costa, telling her all about the infamous Gino when he was a young man. His nickname was Gino the Ram, Costa had confided with an envious chuckle. That’s ’cause he could have any woman he wanted, an’ did. That is, until he met your dear mother, God rest her soul.

Maria. Her mother. So beautiful and pure. Taken from her when she was a child. Brutally murdered by the Bonnatti family.

Lucky would never forget the day she’d run downstairs to find her mother floating on a raft in the family swimming pool. She was five years old, and the memory had stayed with her forever—as vivid as the day it happened. She’d sat by the side of the pool, staring at her exquisite mother, spread-eagled on a raft in the center of the pool. Mama, she’d murmured quietly. And then her voice had risen to a scream, as she realized her mother was no longer with her. MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!

Discovering her mother’s body at such a young age had colored her entire life. After the tragedy, Gino had become so protective of her and her brother, Dario, that living at home in Bel Air was like being shut away in a maximum-security prison. When she’d finally been sent abroad to a boarding school in Switzerland, she’d immediately rebelled and turned into a wild child, running away with her best friend, Olympia Stanislopoulos, to a villa in the south of France, where they’d wreaked havoc and partied nonstop. Oh yes, those were crazy times. Her first taste of freedom, and she’d lived every minute of it, until a sour-faced Gino had tracked her down. Shortly after that he’d decided she would be better off married than careening around on the loose. So he’d made a deal with Senator Peter Richmond to marry her off to his son, the extraordinarily unsexy Craven. What a trap that turned out to be.

When she thought about it, Lucky realized that her life had been a series of incredible highs and lows. The highs were so utterly amazing—her three beautiful, healthy children; her marriage to Lennie; the success in running a major Hollywood studio; not to mention her earlier achievements in Vegas and Atlantic City, where she’d built hotels.

The lows were too dreadful to contemplate. First, the murder of her mother, then the brutal killing of her brother, Dario, and her beloved Marco getting shot in Las Vegas. Three devastating tragedies for which she’d extracted her own form of revenge.

And she had survived. Gino had taught her that survival was everything, and she’d learned the lesson well.

The intercom on her desk buzzed, and her assistant informed her that Venus Maria was on the line. She hurried to pick up. Not only was Venus Maria an adored and controversial superstar, she was also Lucky’s best girlfriend.

What’s up? Lucky asked, flopping down in the leather chair behind her desk.

Good question, Venus replied. Here’s the major problem—I have nothing to wear tonight.

Bo . . . ring.

"I know you’re not into fashion like I am, but I’ll be photographed from here to Puerto Rico, and you know I can’t look ordinary."

Lucky laughed; Venus was such a drama queen. "You? Ordinary? Never!"

Nobody understands, Venus grumbled. The expectations are enormous.

"What expectations?" Lucky asked, picking up a pen and doodling on a pad.

I’m a superstar, dear, Venus announced, tongue in cheek. A superstar who’s supposed to alter her look daily. I mean—for crissake, how many times can I change the color of my hair?

What color is it now?

Platinum.

Then wear a black wig. Clone me—we can go as twins.

You’re no help, Venus wailed. I need assistance.

The last thing Venus needed was assistance. She was one of the most together and talented women Lucky had ever met. At thirty-three, Venus was not only a major movie star, she was also a video and recording superstar, with legions of fans who worshiped her every move. Everything she did still made headlines, even though she’d been doing it for over a decade.

Several years ago she’d married Cooper Turner, the aging but still extremely attractive movie star. After a shaky start, their marriage had taken, and they now had a five-year-old daughter named Chyna. In addition to the joy of a daughter, Venus Maria’s career was going great. Ever since being Oscar nominated for her cameo role in Alex Woods’ Gangsters, she’d been able to pick and choose her roles. Now she longed for another nomination.

It’s not that simple, Lucky had said. You have to keep trying. Pick a goal and go for it.

"I guess that’s what you did, Venus had said. I mean considering you started off with a father who hated you and—"

"Gino never hated me," Lucky had interrupted.

Well, you told me he always put you down ’cause you were a woman, and he wanted a son to run his empire, right?

Ah yes, Lucky had said. But I soon changed his mind.

That’s it, Venus had said. "You got what you wanted. Now I’m going for what I want."

Lucky listened as Venus carried on about what her look for the evening ahead should be. She knew that her friend already had her entire outfit planned, but Venus liked affirmation.

"And what are you wearing?" Venus asked, when she finally stopped talking about herself.

Valentino, Lucky said. Red. It’s Lennie’s favorite color on me.

Hmm . . . Venus said. Sounds sexy. A pause. Then: Is Alex coming?

Of course, Lucky said matter-of-factly. We’re all sitting together.

Venus couldn’t keep the purr out of her voice. "How does Lennie feel about that?"

Will you get off it? Lucky said, irritated that Venus was always trying to make a big deal out of her and Alex, when there was absolutely nothing going on. "You know Alex and Lennie are good friends."

Yes, but—

No buts, Lucky interrupted briskly. Take your fertile imagination and go write another song!

As soon as she hung up, she opened her desk drawer and took out the scribbled speech she planned on giving. She studied it for a few minutes, changing a word or two.

One final read-through and she was satisfied.

Tonight she was going to shock the socks off everyone in Hollywood.

But hey—shocking people—wasn’t that what her life was all about?

Chapter Three

"FANTASTIC! UNBELIEVABLE! More! More! Give me the lips! Those delectable lips! Fredo Carbanado crooned encouragement, his expressive Italian eyes flashing signals of deep lust as they appeared above his camera. I get off on those luscious lips. More! Bellissima! More!"

Brigette moved her body sensuously in front of the camera, giving him the exact poses he wanted. She was blond and curvaceous, with luminous peaches-and-cream skin, enormous blue eyes fringed with the longest lashes, and full pouty lips. Devastatingly pretty and sexy in a child/woman way, she possessed a huge appeal that had to do with a distinct air of vulnerability.

Can it, Fredo, she scolded, adjusting the top of her revealing, coffee-colored lacy slip. "How many times must I tell you? I do not need to hear the riff. Save it for some new little bimbette who’ll get off on your phony bullshit."

Fredo frowned, forever puzzled that Brigette didn’t fall for him like all the other models.

Brigette! he said sadly, lowering his camera and pulling a disappointed face. "Why you always so mean?"

I’m not mean, she retorted matter-of-factly. Merely honest.

"No, you mean," Fredo said, scowling. Mean and ornery.

Thanks! she said tartly.

But Fredo, he knows what you need, the Italian photographer said, nodding knowingly.

And what might that be?

A man! Fredo announced triumphantly.

Ha! Brigette said, shifting her provocative pose. "What makes you think I’m into men? Maybe women do it for me."

Hallelujah! exclaimed Fanny, her black lesbian makeup artist, stepping forward. "I’m here! All ya gotta do is say the word!"

Brigette giggled. Just f—ing with Mister Charm, she said sweetly.

As if I didn’t know, Fanny retorted, touching up Brigette’s full lips with a sable brush. "You have no idea what you are missin’. Women got it goin’, girl!"

Can we turn up the music? Brigette requested. "I so love Montell Jordan."

Who doesn’t? said Fanny. "If I was ever considering changin’ tracks, that’d be the man who’d do it for me!"

"And if I made a switch, Brigette retorted, toying with all of them. I’d definitely go for k. d. lang. Saw her at a benefit last week, she has like this insane sexual aura. It’s almost as if she’s Elvis or something."

Dyke alert! screeched Masters, her hairstylist, a skeletal man dressed in a one-piece yellow jumpsuit, with spiked hair to match.

"Get out!" said Brigette, giggling again.

She loved the camaraderie of working on a shoot. These people were her family, even if Fredo was the lech of all time. He was a star photographer, and for that reason she would never dream of succumbing to his somewhat suspect charms, because Fredo could have anyone, and usually did. He went through models at an alarming rate, loving and leaving them like a regular Don Juan.

Brigette watched him as he danced around behind his camera. Fredo missed being handsome on account of an exceptionally large nose, small eyes, and alarmingly bushy eyebrows. He was also very short, which didn’t seem to faze him—most of his conquests towered over him. Her best friend, Lina, had given her a strong warning. Stay away from Fredo, Lina had said, rolling her saffron-colored eyes in a knowing fashion. "That boy fucks an’ tells. And, in spite of all ’is boastin’, ’e’s got a tiny little dick! So, girlfriend, you do not wanna go there."

Lina was an incredibly exotic-looking black girl from the East End of London. At twenty-six she was a year older than Brigette, but in spite of their very different backgrounds, over the last eighteen months they had become good friends. Brigette had recently purchased an apartment in Lina’s building, so now they were neighbors on Central Park South.

The fashion industry regarded them as supermodels. The very word supermodel sent them both into paroxysms of uncontrollable laughter.

Supermodel, my arse! Lina would exclaim. "They should catch me in the mornin’ with me curlers in! Not a pretty sight!"

I can vouch for that, Brigette would reply.

Lina’s turn. "An’ ’ow about you with no makeup. You look like a bloody Albino caught in some bloke’s headlights!"

Unlike Brigette, Lina went through men at an alarming rate. Rock stars were her favorites, but she wasn’t averse to any man as long as he was extremely rich and bought her lavish presents. Lina loved receiving presents.

The other thing she loved was trying to fix Brigette up, but Brigette shied away from all involvements. She had a checkered history with men—as far as she was concerned they were all trouble. First boyfriend: young actor Tim Wealth. She’d been an innocent teenager with a crush; he’d been an ambitious man with an agenda. And he’d gotten himself beaten up and murdered, all because of his connection to her.

Next there was the frightening encounter with the Santangelos’ archenemy, Santino Bonnatti, who’d tried to sexually molest both her and her uncle, Bobby, when they were both kids. She’d shot Santino with his own gun. Lucky had tried to take the blame, but Brigette had made sure the truth came out. The judge had pronounced it a clear case of self-defense and ordered her to check in with a probation officer once a month for a year. After that it was over.

Then there was Paul Webster. She’d had a crush on Paul for a long time, right up until she got engaged to the wealthy son of one of her grandfather’s business rivals. When Paul finally came running, she’d decided a career was more important than any man, so she’d broken her engagement and concentrated on making it as a model. Unfortunately, one of the first people she’d hooked up with in the modeling world was Michel Guy, a top agent who’d turned out to be a sick pervert, forcing her to perform scenes with other girls, and then blackmailing her with the photos. Once again, Lucky had come to her rescue. Brigette loved and admired Lucky. She was her self-appointed godmother and a true friend.

Since her disastrous experience with Michel Guy, Brigette had put men on the back burner, suspicious of their intent. And apart from a brief affair with fellow model Isaac, that was it as far as involvements were concerned.

"Doncha miss sex?" Lina was forever demanding, after another night of passion with one of her retinue of ardent—sometimes married—rock stars.

Not at all, was Brigette’s airy reply. "I’m waiting for the right guy, then I’ll make up for it."

Truth was she was wary of any serious involvement. To her, men spelled disaster and danger.

Occasionally she dated. Not that she enjoyed the dating game—it was always the same dance. Dinner at a hot new restaurant; drinks at a happening new club; the inevitable grope; and then, as soon as the guy moved in for the kill, she moved on.

Safe and never sorry—Brigette had found it was the only way to go.

What you and Lina do tonight? Fredo asked, snapping away.

Why? Brigette retorted, changing poses as fast as he clicked his shutter.

’Cause I got a cousin— he began.

No! she interrupted firmly.

From England.

She raised an eyebrow. "An English cousin?"

Carlo’s Italian, like me. He work in London.

"And you promised to fix him up with a couple of hot young models, right?"

"It’s not like that, cara."

I bet!

Carlo is engaged.

Even better, Brigette said, shaking her head vigorously. Last fling before the wedding. I think not.

So suspicious, Fredo grumbled. I thought we could have nice dinner, the four of us. Just friends.

"The only thing you’re just friends with is your cat, Brigette said tartly. And there’ve been rumors about that . . ."

Fanny and Masters, listening on the sidelines, shrieked with laughter. They loved seeing Fredo rejected, it was so unusual.

Later, when the photo session was finished and Brigette was on her way out of his studio, Fredo stopped her by the door. Please! he wailed. "I must impress my cousin. He’s what you Americans call a prick."

Wonderful! Brigette said crisply. "Now you want us to have dinner with a nasty guy. This is getting better every minute."

Brigette, Fredo pleaded. For me. It make me look good. One big favor.

She sighed. Suddenly Fredo the ladykiller appeared needy, and since she was a sucker for anyone in trouble, she immediately felt sorry for him. Okay, I’ll ask Lina, she said, sure that Lina had a date with bigger and better, while she had a date with a double-cheese pizza and an Absolutely Fabulous marathon on the Comedy Channel.

Fredo kissed her hand. He was still so Italian, in spite of having lived in America for many years. You are special woman, he crooned. My little American rose.

"I’m not your anything," she retorted crisply, and quickly skipped out of the studio.

•   •

Don’t! commanded Lina.

What? said Flick Fonda, a married rock star with a penchant for gorgeous black women.

Don’t touch me feet! Lina warned, rolling away from her latest victim.

Why? he asked, crawling across the bed after her. You ticklish?

No, she said crossly. Me feet are very sensitive—stay away!

"As long as that’s all I gotta stay away from," Flick said with a ribald laugh.

Lina tossed back her long, straight black hair, inherited from her half-Spanish mother, and turned onto her stomach. She had hoped for Superman. What she’d gotten was an aging rock star with no technique. She was bored with Flick. He was just another conquest and not that exciting between the sheets.

The trouble with rock stars was that they were sated with women. All they really wanted to do was lie back and get their dicks sucked. Not that she was averse to such activity, but she did expect it to be reciprocal, and rock stars never cared to return the favor.

She stretched languorously. Gotta go, she said.

Why? he said, lecherously eyeing her smooth black skin. I have all night. My wife thinks I’m in Cleveland.

Then she’s an idiot, Lina said, jumping off the bed in his sumptuous hotel suite. She’d met Flick’s wife once at a fashion show. Pamela Fonda was an ex-model who’d given him three kids in a pathetic attempt to keep him home. Trouble was, there was no one who could keep Flick home. The man craved constant action. He was a hall-of-fame rocker with a wandering cock and macho attitude.

Where you goin’? Flick whined, not used to women leaving unless he ordered them to.

Meeting my girlfriend, Lina said, plucking her skimpy Azzedine Alaïa dress off the floor and shimmying her slender body into it.

Whyn’t I take you both to dinner? Flick suggested, watching her as she dressed.

Sorry, Lina said, stepping into her scarlet Diego Della Valle exceptionally high heels. We already got arrangements.

Flick stretched his sinewy body across the bed. He was naked, very white, and quite hairless apart from a full pubic bush of fuzzy orange. He was also hard again. Quite impressive for an almost-fifty nonstop raver, Lina thought. Shame he didn’t know what to do with it.

He caught Lina looking. See anything you might wanna hang around for? he asked with a self-satisfied smirk.

Nope, she said matter-of-factly. Can’t be late for me best friend. And before he could stop her, she beat a hasty retreat.

She stood in the elevator on her way down to the lobby, trying to ignore an elderly couple who were blatantly staring at her. The woman began nudging her husband to make sure he recognized the famous supermodel.

Lina was used to the scrutiny; in fact, there were times she got off on it. Tonight wasn’t one of them, however. She began staring back at the man, licking her full lips suggestively, poking out her extra-long tongue. He blushed a dull red.

Oh yes, this was slightly different from the life she’d led in England, where she’d been a hairdresser’s apprentice and treated like crap because she was young and had no money and lived in a one-room dump with her waitress mother, her Jamaican father having taken off shortly after she was born. What a bastard he was. Not that she’d ever met him, although one of these days—if he ever realized she was his daughter—he’d probably come crawling back to bask in the fame and glory.

Fuck him if he did. She didn’t need a dad; she’d done very nicely without one.

Everything changed when she was discovered by the aunt of a modeling agent who insisted she go see her niece. Even though Lina was only seventeen at the time, the niece, recognizing enormous potential, had signed her on the spot.

After that it was all go, a dizzying ride to the top with plenty of adventures along the way.

She’d moved to America permanently five years ago, although most of her time was spent traveling the world. From Paris to Milan to the Bahamas, Lina was always in demand, always the center of attention.

Downstairs she slipped the doorman ten bucks to get her a cab and fished a small cell phone from her oversized Prada purse. Brig, she said, when her friend answered. What we doin’ tonight? It just so ’appens I’m free.

Chapter Four

HANGING OUT in his trailer during a late lunch break, Lennie Golden leaned over, grabbed a bottle of beer from his portable fridge, and swigged heartily until the bottle was almost empty. Lennie was tall and lanky, with dirty-blond hair and ocean-green eyes. He was extremely attractive in an edgy, offhand way, with a dark humor and sometimes acerbic wit. Age agreed with him; at forty-five, women found him more attractive than ever.

Lennie liked being alone in his trailer where he could concentrate on his work, especially as he was writing an original script and was well into it. His laptop was laid out ready for action, so it was annoying that soon it would be time to put on black tie—which he hated—and get his ass in gear. He wasn’t into big-time Hollywood events, but since tonight it was Lucky who was being honored, there was no getting out of it.

Lucky Santangelo Golden, his wife—the most beautiful woman in the world and the smartest. He often thought how fortunate he was to have her, especially a few years ago, when he’d spent several soul-destroying months as the victim of a horrible kidnapping plot, trapped and manacled in an underground cave in Sicily. He’d sat out those interminable months dreaming of his escape and of returning to Lucky and his children. Thank God his prayers had been answered. Now he was safe and settled, and things had never been better.

Looking back on his nightmare, it all seemed surreal—as if it had happened to someone else. If it hadn’t been for Claudia, the Sicilian girl who’d answered his prayers and helped him escape . . .

A second assistant hammered on his trailer door, interrupting his thoughts. Ready on the set, Mr. G.

I’ll be right there, he responded, banishing the vision of Claudia, with her big soulful eyes, long tan legs, and smooth skin.

Skin like silk . . .

He’d never told Lucky what really happened, how he’d managed to secure his escape from the underground prison he’d been trapped in. He’d never told her and he never would. It was the one thing he kept from his wife because he didn’t want to hurt her.

Lucky would not believe he’d had no choice. It was his secret, and he planned on keeping it.

He turned off his laptop, left his trailer, and headed for the street location nearby, greeting Buddy, his black cinematographer, with a friendly high five on the way.

Wass up, man? Buddy said, falling into step beside him. No food today?

Saving myself for the plastic chicken tonight, he answered with a wry grin.

Yeah! Buddy said forcefully, ’Bin there!

They both laughed.

•   •

Mary Lou Berkeley was feeling nostalgic. It was a week away from her ninth wedding anniversary, and she couldn’t help thinking about how she and Steven had first met. Of course, what she should be thinking about was her role in Lennie’s movie, especially the upcoming scene. But reminiscing about Steven was irresistible. He was irresistible, and thankfully she still loved him as much as when they’d first gotten together. They were a perfect fit, and they always would be.

Mary Lou was a glowingly pretty, curvaceous black woman of thirty-one, with huge brown eyes, shoulder-length black curls, and a totally captivating smile.

The day she’d met Steven had been traumatic to say the least. She’d been eighteen at the time, a TV star and full of her own importance. It had not been love at first sight. She’d walked into his office at the prestigious New York law firm of Myerson, Laker and Brandon, accompanied by her mother, her manager aunt, and her edgy white boyfriend. Some entourage.

But Steven had been pleasant and reassuring, managing to persuade everyone else to wait outside while she told him her story. And what a sorry story it was. Rashly she’d allowed her then boyfriend to take nude pictures of her when she was fifteen—nothing hard core, simply some fun stuff they’d gotten into together while fooling around. Recently, cashing in on her TV fame in a family sitcom, the old boyfriend had sold the offending photos to a skin magazine, they’d been published, and now Mary Lou was determined to sue.

Steven warned her that suing a magazine was not easy; there would be depositions, endless questions, and all the pressures of negative publicity. I can handle it, she’d said, full of the confidence of youth. I want to see those scummy rats pay for what they’ve done to me.

Okay, Steven had said. If that’s what you want, we’ll go for it.

Finally, almost three years later, they’d gotten into court. Her court appearance went extremely well. She was poised and articulate, and the jury fell in love with her—especially when she smiled. They loved her so much that on the final day they awarded her sixteen million dollars in damages.

Mary Lou was elated and triumphant. So was Steven. They went out to dinner to celebrate, and before long the innocent celebration turned into something more.

One thing about Mary Lou—when she wanted something, she was determined. And apart from suing the magazine, she had her big brown eyes firmly fixed on Steven, even though he was over twenty years her senior.

Later that night they ended up in bed. It was warm and exciting, and it made Steven feel guilty as hell. She was too young. He was too old. As far as he was concerned it was a no-win situation.

This relationship is not going to work, he told her sternly.

Sure, she answered cheerfully. "I have a great idea. Let’s make it not work together."

All she had to do was smile, and he was lost. A week later she moved into his house.

Mary Lou gave him the personal happiness he’d been lacking for so long. His life had fallen apart for a while when his mother, Carrie, had revealed that she wasn’t sure who his father was. Mary Lou helped him to get his head straight and to stop obsessing about his past and concentrate on his work as a lawyer.

Then came the second magazine incident. The publisher of the magazine Mary Lou had sued published a ten-page spread of extremely explicit photos, claiming they were of Mary Lou. They weren’t. They were clever fakes, with her face superimposed on a porno star’s body. Unfortunately, the magazine hit the stands before anyone could stop it.

When Mary Lou saw the magazine, she was so distraught that she attempted suicide. Fortunately, Steven managed to rush her to the hospital in time.

Mary Lou was released a week later, and Steven knew for sure that he couldn’t live without her. They were married shortly after.

Marriage saved both of them. For Steven it was finding someone who cared about him above all else. And for Mary Lou it was the security and love she’d always craved.

Within a few months she was pregnant, eventually giving birth to a beautiful baby girl they named Carioca Jade. Carioca was now eight. Lookswise she was the image of her mother. Smartswise she wanted to be a lawyer, exactly like daddy.

Mary Lou was a sensational mother. In spite of a successful career, she always managed to put Steven and Carioca first, making them feel like the two most important human beings on the planet.

It had been Steven’s idea to move to L.A. when they’d returned to the States after a two-year stay in England, where he’d studied English law, played golf, and generally done nothing except enjoy spending time with his wife and daughter. Settling in L.A. will make it easier for you to get back into the business, he’d told Mary Lou. Besides, he didn’t want to live in New York again, and he had the urge to spend some time with his half sister, Lucky, and his father, Gino. It had taken him a lifetime to find out that he had a family, and when he did, it was a strange and overwhelming feeling. Lucky had accepted him immediately, but it had taken Gino a while to fully realize he had fathered a black son, the result of a long-ago one-night affair with Carrie, Steven’s mother.

When Steven told his friend and partner, Jerry Myerson, that he wanted to settle in L.A., Jerry had been understanding as usual. He’d suggested that they open a West Coast branch of Myerson and Berkeley. Steven liked the idea; so did Mary Lou.

Fortunately Steven had been proven right: relocating to L.A. was great for Mary Lou’s career. She started getting the movie roles she’d been missing out on while living in Europe. And after taking on two junior partners, Steven’s new law firm took off. It was an excellent move for both of them.

They’re ready for you on the set, Miz Berkeley, said a second A.D., knocking on the open door of her trailer.

Oh, right, Mary Lou said, jumping back to the present. I’m on my way.

Chapter Five

ZIPPING ALONG the Pacific Coast Highway in her red Ferrari, vintage Marvin Gaye blasting on her CD player, Lucky felt pretty good about everything. All she hoped was that she was making the right decision. Gino seemed to think she was.

You gotta do what you feel in your gut, he’d told her. So if you feel it, do it!

Well, she’d find out soon enough when she got everyone’s reaction to her announcement—especially Lennie’s.

It was too late now, but it occurred to her that maybe she should have told him first. The problem was that Lennie had a way of analyzing things, and she didn’t want him analyzing what she planned to do, she simply wanted to do it.

At the beach house everyone was assembled in the big, comfortable kitchen overlooking the ocean. There were little Gino and Maria with their cheerful, black, longtime nanny, CeeCee, and Bobby, who at fifteen was so damn good-looking—a taller version of his grandfather Gino.

Hi, Mom, Bobby said. Wait’ll you see my Armani tux. You’re gonna freak.

I’m sure, Lucky said dryly. Who told you you could go to Armani?

Grandad, Bobby said, chewing on a carrot stick.

Gino spoils you, Lucky said.

Yeah, Bobby said, laughing. And don’t I love it!

Lucky had agreed that Bobby could come to the event tonight. However, she did not want little Gino and Maria coming too, they were too young. She had no intention of raising them as Hollywood kids; she’d seen enough of those brats with no manners and a Porsche at sixteen.

CeeCee, who’d been with the family since Bobby was born, was busy serving the younger children rice and beans.

Mmm . . . Lucky said, hovering over the table. That looks yummy.

Where’s Daddy? Maria asked. He promised we could jog along the beach. Maria was a pretty child, with enormous green eyes and wispy blond hair. She looked a lot like Lennie, while little Gino favored Lucky in the looks department.

Daddy’s working, Lucky explained. He’ll jog with you this weekend—how’s that?

I’m going to my friend’s this weekend, Maria announced. She’s having a big big birthday party.

You’re deserting us for a whole weekend? Lucky said, pulling a sad face.

"You told me I could go, Mama, Maria said seriously. You promised."

Lucky smiled. I know, she said, remembering how she had been at eight. She’d had no mother to watch over her, only the gloomy walls of the Bel Air house, with Gino keeping guard. Mama’s going upstairs to get ready for tonight, she said. "And when I come down, I want to see all this food eaten up. And I want to see pajamas on bodies, and two small people ready to give me big hugs and kisses."

Little Gino giggled. She bent over and gave him a hug before hurrying upstairs to her bedroom, where Ned, her hairstylist, was waiting patiently. She usually fixed her hair herself, but since tonight was such an important event, she’d decided that she’d better make a special effort.

Ned appeared quite agitated.

What’s up? Lucky asked.

You make me nervous, he complained. You’re always in such a rush.

Especially today, she said, causing him to become even more agitated. I’ve got to be dressed, made up, and in the limo by five-thirty.

Okay, into the chair, Ned said, clapping his hands together. How are we doing your hair?

Up. Something sophisticated.

You mean something that’s completely not you?

Ha, ha, Lucky said. I can look like a grown-up for once, can’t I?

Of course, Ned said. "Only do not nag. Nagging gives me heart palpitations."

You’ve got twenty minutes, she said, glancing at her watch. I can’t sit still for longer than that.

Oh God, he groaned. Give me a movie star any day. At least they’ll stare at themselves in the mirror for hours and not utter a word.

Ned fixed her hair in record time. She thanked him, paid him, and hustled him out. As soon as he was gone, she raced into the shower, making sure to angle her head back so that she didn’t ruin Ned’s do. Then she quickly toweled herself dry and sprayed herself all over with Lennie’s favorite scent. Next she applied her makeup and slid into a long, slinky red Valentino, with spaghetti straps, plunging neckline, and a slit to the top of her thigh. The dress was very revealing; fortunately she was slender enough to carry it off.

She stared at herself in the mirror. I look like a real grown-up now, she thought with a smile.

Lucky Santangelo. Little Lucky Saint, as they’d called her at school—so that her real identity was never revealed and it would not be known that she was connected to the notorious Gino Santangelo, the Las Vegas hotel tycoon with the somewhat shady

Reviews for Dangerous Kiss

[mhanover10 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Finally found more Lucky Santangelo books. This one is full of drama and action, just like the rest of the books. I really enjoy this series.